Hot hot day
by wanderingsmith
Summary: S/W - PWP - When the days run Hot


Summary: S/W - PWP - When the days run Hot

Rating: NC17  
Disclaimer: Ain't got no money and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me; so there!

AN:_a fic a day keeps the blues at bay?_

Elizabeth ambled toward the isolated balcony, avoiding working up any extra warmth at all. How air conditioning failed on the hottest, stickiest, week even in an Ancient city... wasn't worth thinking about.

She'd given up on dignity and started wearing her most opaque silk tank top all on its own the second day. And watching John's mouth drop open and his eyes stay glued to her until Ronon slapped his back had been... thoroughly gratifying. Having him hover at her shoulder every minute and glare obviously at every man that looked at her... not so much. Their well-excusable heat-caused short tempers had clashed every second hour, but somehow he never actually moved away. And once they got their shouting match over with, they managed another couple of hours together.

He'd finally run away when Rodney and Zelenka cornered her and started waxing scientific. And now, instead of enjoying the freedom... she was actually running... well, _ambling_ him to ground.

Opening the door and stepping outside... provided absolutely no difference in temperature. The wonderful ocean breeze that used to chill her when they stood on her balcony... was gone without a trace. The sweat standing on her skin and her soaked top had no relief.

She found her unwanted bodyguard leaning back on the wall in a corner that pretended to shade. "Figured you'd track me down sooner or later." he hadn't bothered opening his eyes. She watched the sweat slide down his throat and into the nest of hair on his bare chest and started to grin. He'd kept the thinnest, raggediest t-shirt on right up to the last time she'd seen him. This was not a sight she'd ever had the pleasure of. Ummm, maybe she understood his reaction now. She wasn't all that keen to share this sight with the rest of the over-heated women in Atlantis.

"Elizabeth, if you keep staring like that, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."

Her eyes jerked back up at his words, catching his and not having time to react before he took the two steps between them. His hands came up to hold her jaw as he kissed her, lips hard and tongue taking advantage of the fact that she'd opened her mouth to question his actions. It wasn't until she felt the wall hit her back that she realized he'd pushed her into moving.

A week of being surrounded in his scent, his glistening skin and burning eyes. Feeling the passion of annoyance, her too-warm body reacting too quickly, overheated skin sensitive to even light silk. She wasn't especially surprised one of them had broken. Wasn't surprised she couldn't seem to make herself fight him off. She could have; all she had to do was push and she knew he'd step away. He might argue, but he would physically let go. But. Oh! His heated, wet chest pressed tight into hers, teasing tight nipples hard into swollen breasts. When she moaned, the rest of his body settled on hers, both of them in damp, rolled-hem pants.

Her hands gave up the idea of saying stop and slid on the wet, heavy-muscled shoulders and into the dripping-dark hair, pulling him close as hard as he was pushing her between himself and the wall. His tongue was smooth and wet and making no qualms of taking ownership of her mouth, even as his hips pressed into her pelvis, heavy aroused shaft rocking right on her swollen cleft and throbbing clit.

She wasn't thinking at all anymore, not when she could feel instead. Feel the powerful body, still warmer than the air, tensed and very definitely aroused, surrounding her. He wasn't leaving her mouth and she wouldn't have let him, stroking and suckling his invading tongue, getting around it to return the invasion, feeling him shudder and rock harder. The refusal to release his lips left them both short of breath and stealing air by misaligning the kiss from time to time.

One of her hands had gone back to touching those heavy, flexing shoulder muscles, feeling as though she held the essence of man at her fingertips. She could feel pleasure tingles getting harder and longer with every rock of his hips; couldn't quite comprehend that what she was feeling, so quickly, was the first steps of climax. Not until he dropped a hand between them and flicked his thumb across one squashed nipple.

John couldn't believe it when he felt her body start to stiffen, feeling her keening cry shiver right down his spinal cord, tightening the need in his balls as he sped up the rhythm even more. Gods! The idea that he could bring Elizabeth pleasure so easily; that she wanted him as viciously as he wanted her. The exercise was making the sweat flow on both of them, hopelessly soaking clothe and making every touch slippery and burning hot. He was actually close, with the pulsing bite of her nails in his shoulder and scalp, the way she made love to his mouth as much as her hot, slick body did to his. Damn this was crazy. So good crazy.

She was moaning with every rock, such a sweet feminine sound of pleasure and need, nipping at his lip as he felt orgasm ripping through him, shout drowned in her mouth as he ground her tight into the wall, pleasure spreading out from his cock until he lost track of everything else in the world.

She was gently stroking his back as he got his senses back, his head drooping on her shoulder. Her body was still shuddering lightly; like his. He raised himself up on hands against the wall, gently separating them. Soaked silk from wet chest; two pairs of very wet pants. He had warned her; and he would have stopped if she'd resisted. But still, it wasn't like him to be forceful; especially not with Elizabeth. But her green eyes were mellow when he made himself meet them. And she gave him that teasing smile she always seemed to have for him.

"Not responsible for your actions, John? Maybe **I** should encourage **you** to drop responsibility more often."


End file.
